


simple as that

by coatsandjumpers



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coatsandjumpers/pseuds/coatsandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys would be lying if he said being with Jack is always easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	simple as that

Rhys loves Jack, loves him when he calls Rhys cupcake, loves him when they fuck in Jack's office, loves him even when Jack slaps him, hard, and loves him maybe the most when Jack apologizes right after, dropping caresses on Rhys's bruised face.

Jack's apologies are always reassuring, carefully constructed reminders of how much Jack loves Rhys too. They ring with all the sincerity of a businessman, but all Rhys hears, all Rhys wants to hear is "I love you Rhys, you know that right? You understand why that happened? I just lost control for a second. God, kitten, you make me feel so damn out of control."

And Rhys smiles, takes that for the compliment he's sure it is. Once Jack turns back to his work though, it's hard for Rhys to keep looking happy, because the muscles in his face feel stiff and because it hurts to smile, hurts in more ways than one. But that's okay for now, because pain fades with time - isn't that what they always say? It’s okay because Rhys can reach for an ice pack and let the cold numb his face while he numbs himself to the world around him, trying to forget the throbbing pain in his cheek.

Today though, today has been a good day. Jack's been in a good mood, and he hasn't thrown anybody out of an airlock all day. It's just been a lot of irritating but harmless phone calls, with Jack absentmindedly playing with Rhys's hair. Rhys gets approximately -5% of his work done when they do this, sit on the couch together with Rhys laying against Jack, his back to Jack's chest. It's worth it though, because it's not like Rhys's work even matters that much. Rhys is well aware his job title is mostly for show. Someone else can do the paperwork; his real job is to help Jack, in any way he can. That's something no one else can do (without getting killed within two weeks), and Rhys takes pride in that.

The feel of Jack's fingers carding through his hair is soothing, and Rhys likes listening to Jack. He's gotten used to the exaggerated inflection, and right now, he's content to lean back, close his eyes, and let the sound of Jack's voice wash over him. He must fall asleep, because the next moment he jolts as Jack's voice pierces through whatever comfortable quiet was present only moments before.

"Two days? You can get the information to me in two days? How about I give you twenty-four hours before you're fired?” Quiet for a few moments. “I don’t think you understand. By fired, I mean dead. Got that? Good."

Rhys turns his head slightly to see Jack slam the receiver down, breathing slightly more heavily from shouting so loudly. He's angry, Rhys can tell. He smiles slightly when he turns to Rhys though, the corner of his mouth just lifting up.

"Did I wake you up, pumpkin? I'm sorry."

Rhys shakes his head slightly, saying "it's okay" rather softly. He feels a little on edge, because Jack feels volatile right now, even more so than usual. It's a reversal of the comfortable atmosphere of earlier, because now things feel tense and taut like a pulled string. Rhys senses he's woken up in a far more dangerous situation than he feel asleep in. He's not afraid of Jack of course; Rhys is just afraid of letting Jack down, of not being able to give Jack what he wants and needs. Rhys is sure that that's all he's really afraid of, and he desperately tries to ignore the pain in his cheek that has suddenly flared up again, a persistent reminder of what happens when Rhys isn't enough for Jack, a persistent reminder of what Rhys is telling himself he's not afraid of.

Jack lightly pushes Rhys on the shoulder until he turns to face Jack, looking up slightly to meet his eyes. Jack's kisses are light, gently dropped onto Rhys's face, but it only takes a second before Jack is shoving Rhys against the back of the couch, the frame pressing uncomfortably into his spine. Suddenly, Jack's lips are hard against his, the kiss harsh and his teeth drawing blood. Rhys lets himself relax against the couch, lets his mouth fall open to Jack's rough movements. The copper tang of blood is unpleasant but not unfamiliar, and Rhys ignores it for now, focusing instead on the feel of Jack against him. Rhys loves that, loves Jack, and even if Jack is a little too rough Rhys still enjoys the way he's the center of Jack's attention. He's doing exactly what Jack wants him to do, and it's incredibly satisfying to watch Jack fall apart and know that he's the reason for it.

Jack's fingertips drag across Rhys's neck, lingering for a second on his windpipe, as if deliberating. Rhys freezes, but after a breathless moment, Jack's fingers move on, his nails scratching light marks on Rhys's skin. Moments later, light marks become purple bruises against Rhys’s collarbone, covering the slightly faded marks from a day or two ago. Rhys is grateful that he’s supposed to wear a button-up and tie to work, because it hides almost everything. It’s not like it actually matters, because Jack is usually the only person Rhys really interacts with anyway, but Rhys doesn’t like seeing the bruises, doesn’t like flinching every time he accidentally brushes one.

Jack tugs on Rhys’s shirt, and Rhys recognizes the command in the simple movement. He unbuttons it with practiced efficiency, while Jack makes short work of his pants, and then it’s both of them, skin on skin, Rhys shivering with the sudden cold of the room and the sudden heat of Jack pressed flush against him. Jack kisses down Rhys’s body, lips pressing against Rhys’s bruises. The light pressure is barely even painful, but Rhys steels himself anyway, feels his body tense up instinctively to brace against any new marks, any new pain.

With the first few times, Rhys mentioned to Jack that he wasn’t a huge fan of marking and hurting and bruising, but Jack had only smiled and laughed.

“Okay but Rhysie, cupcake, I like leaving these pretty marks on you. And you want to make me happy, right?” Jack had leaned close to Rhys when he said it, brushed a hand against his cheek and looked expectantly at Rhys. And somehow that look quieted all those alarm bells in Rhys’s head, shut down that voice screaming “I like leaving these pretty marks on you, I like marking you, bruising you, hurting you, _hurting you_ ”.

And so Rhys had nodded, and he never brought it up again. Still, it doesn’t stop Rhys from disliking the pain, from wincing when he feels the press of Jack’s fingers inside him. There’s lube thankfully, from the top drawer in Jack’s desk, but Rhys grits his teeth all the same. At this point, the discomfort is familiar. It hasn’t gotten much easier since the first few times though, not like Rhys thought it would. Three fingers and Rhys feels too much of a burn, enough to make him unclench his teeth and look up at Jack, pleading.

“Jack, please. There’s not enough lube.” Rhys can feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes, white-hot and embarrassing. Jack pauses and eyes him for a second before dispensing more lube onto his fingers. Rhys lets out a sigh of relief, grateful, and decides that the burn is bearable now. It’s only a few more moments before Jack pulls his fingers out, their absence feeling just as uncomfortable now as their presence had been only seconds before. Rhys throws his head back when Jack starts pushing in, the muscles in his neck straining from trying not to cry out in pain. Jack stays still for a little, making small, vaguely soothing noises.

It’s too much and both of them know it, know it every time because Jack never seems to spend enough time prepping Rhys. It’s too rough, too fast, but Rhys supposes it’s flattering that Jack wants him that much, is so impatient to be with him. With that thought, Rhys closes his eyes for a moment, waits for the worst of the burn to fade, and then moves against Jack, hissing at the friction. Jack takes control soon after, pinning Rhys’s arms against the couch cushions and moving at a faster pace, and Rhys cries out as the first sparks of pleasure finally hit him. Jack’s movements become increasingly erratic, and Rhys feels him come, watches Jack tense while arching his back. He’s already pulling out by the time he fully regains his senses, efficiently putting on clean clothes while Rhys finishes himself off, hand movements methodical. Still, Rhys comes quickly, and it’s only moments before he registers how uncomfortable the come between his legs and on his hand is.

Jack is pulling on a tie, looking as impeccable as always, and as he loops and tightens the knot, he turns to Rhys, saying, “Thanks pumpkin.” Fingers adjust the knot one final time. “I needed that. Take care of clean up, would you?”

And with that, he’s back in his chair, already pulling papers and the phone towards him.

Rhys stands up, feeling strangely dissatisfied. He shakes off the feeling and wipes himself off before pulling his clothing back on slowly, looking distinctly more disheveled than Jack. He’s careful to avoid touching his new bruises, which have turned a nasty shade of purple; Rhys knows they’re going to hurt like a bitch later. But with a shirt once again covering the marks, Rhys nods, satisfied that he can ignore those for the rest of the day. Jack had been relatively gentle this time - bruises and hickeys Rhys can deal with. It’s the slaps he really worries about. Rhys can’t help feeling a bit dirty and used, like having sex with Jack isn’t an entirely reciprocal process, like they’re not so much equal lovers as employer and employee, always. But when Rhys turns back to the desk, Jack looks up for a second and catches his eye. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, and his eyes linger on Rhys for a few moments before his focus drops back down to his work. He’s clearly in a good mood again, some kind of tension or burden or anger relieved, all because of Rhys. He’s helping Jack like he always wants to do, and Rhys smiles at that, no longer concerned because he’s convinced of how much Jack needs him and wants him. Rhys dismisses his previous thoughts as silly, just as he always does in the moments after Jack fucks him. He loves Jack. It’s as simple as that.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. This is not my quite my usual subject material. This is also not meant to portray a healthy relationship; quite the opposite in fact. 
> 
> I can't believe I'm writing in this tag. This is your tag, dammit. You know who you are, you Hyperion trash can.


End file.
